


The Phantom of the Federation

by musicmillennia



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Acting, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Phantom of the Opera Fusion, Angst, Bit Dark, Dancing, Explicit Language, Humor, Misunderstandings, Mother's Wrath, Multi, Romance, Singing, Skeleton Monkies, everyone is human
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-22
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2017-12-24 08:07:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/937603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicmillennia/pseuds/musicmillennia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Kirk is a talented tenor with a mysterious teacher who turns out to be the very Phantom haunting the Federation Opera House; a Phantom who doesn't like it when Jim's old friend steps into the picture.</p><p> </p><p>Phantom of the Opera AU with McKirk/Khirk and a few choice twists leading to a decidedly different ending. (Tags and rating may change)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: 2105

**Author's Note:**

> Originally I wanted this prologue to be set in 2239, and go back to 2258. Then I realized with the advanced technology and everything the Phantom's face would easily have been fixed when he was a child and then there was the added fact he'd probably be tracked down too soon and too easily, so this is set in 2105/2088.
> 
> This is not the American Phantom, but ALW's, as you most likely thought. Please note that tags may either decrease or increase in quantity as the story progresses, and the rating is sure to go up if I can manage it, which I certainly will try. I will also take this moment to tell you that I realize Hannibal in PotO was by a different person.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy my first chapter story on this site :)

_Federation Opera House, San Fancisco  
2105_

The building, once beautiful and shining with excitement and life, is now the antithesis of how he remembers it. The plush theater seats are now tangled with cobwebs, covered with almost as much dust as the stage floor; the large curtains are in tatters, the catwalks close to collapsing for good. He has no doubt the rest of the place is equally as dilapidated, yet the acutionneer doesn't seem to see any of it. He fixes the man with a withered glare as the items are brought out.

"Lot six-six-three then, ladies and gentleman," the man continues, unconscious of the steely gaze, "A poster of this House's production of the classic Earth opera,  _Hannibal_ by Fuller. Do I have five? You madam, five? Six? Seven? Against you sir, seven? Going once, going twice...sold, to the gentleman in the back, thank you."

Transparent faces shimmer at the edges of his vision, laughter echoing in memories long since past; lost voices sing and dead bodies glide across this very stage when it was steady and polished, humming with the orchestra's sweeping crescendos and lulling pianissimos. His wrinkling hands feebly grip the blanket settled on his lap, eyes clenching shut. For a moment he thinks he should not have come, then shoves the ridiculous thought away with the rest of the memories.

"Lot six-six-five is a rare collector's piece, ladies and gentleman," the fool prattles on, "A musical box in the shape of a barrel organ, attached to it the figure of a skeletal monkey playing the symbols. This item was discovered in the vaults of the theater and still in working order! Showing here."

A familiar, lilting song makes his eyes snap open.

"Do I have twenty-five for this? Yes, you, madam? Do I hear thirty?"

He immediately raises his number.

"Thirty. And thirty-five?"

The woman shakes her head when he looks at her. His body might be aging but his eyes have never lost their touch.

"Sold then, to the Viscount Singh. Thank you, sir."

He is handed the box. It looks as new as the day he first saw it all those years ago, the bones on the figure as white as its former owner's mask.

_A collector's piece indeed._

The auctionneer has moved on. "Lot six-six-six: a chandelier in pieces...most of you I'm sure recall the strange affair of the Phantom of the Opera, a mystery never fully explained."

As soon as the name is uttered, it is almost like a haunting tension seeps into the room, causing almost everyone to fidget or look over their shoulder. 

The auctionneer adds, "We are told that this is the very chandelier which figures in the famous disaster. Our workshops have repaired it and have wired some of it for the new electric light, so that we may get a hint of how it may look when reassembled. Perhaps we may even frighten away the ghost of so many years ago with a little illumination."

He looks at the sheet just as it is being snatched away. In the antique crystals he can almost see that horrible face--

"Gentlemen!" 

 


	2. Friends, Old and New

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish you happy reading :)

 

  
**ACT I** _  
_

_Federation Opera House  
_ _2088_

"Hey there, Gold Tits!" Jim chirped, coming over to Spock. He almost laughed aloud at the look on his friend's face.

"Need I remind you that your nipples are likewise painted?" Spock said, visibly endeavoring to keep himself calm despite his annoyance. Needless to say this wasn't the first time Jim had pointed out their make up. The garish red streaks on their chests and faces was the main object of last week's jabs, but the sparkling gold covering their nipples were always brought up somehow.

"No, I can feel it just fine thanks," Jim shuddered; the paint was fucking cold and itched like one wouldn't believe. He huffed, "Why is it that every production, we get the weird body paint and fake piercings?"

"We are in the chorus, Jim," Spock exhaled (because he refused to acknowledge he ever sighed for reasons Jim couldn't guess), "I will take this moment to direct you to our leads twenty point four feet down stage."

Jim never understood how he calculated that, but right he was on both accounts. The two leads, Marcus and Finney, were almost as bad as the chorus in terms of make up; those wigs were especially atrocious. Jim could at least take comfort in the fact he didn't have to wear one of those braided cats on his head. Physical aspects aside, the hubris of Finney wasn't something to be envied either.

"How can anyone keep a straight face around here?" he murmured to Spock as the maestro called everyone to places. When he didn't get a flat, sassy remark he turned to him, only to discover him watching the female dancers.

Specifically..."Spock, I never took you for a horn dog."

Spock's head whipped back over. At Jim's smirk he glowered, "I am not, Jim. I was merely admiring Nyota's technique."

"Oh, it's _Nyota_ now, is it?" Jim snickered, "She won't be happy you told me her first name."

He was sure Spock had a comeback but he couldn't hear it as they were cued in.

Teasing aside, Jim did love the rush and activity that came with moving his limbs in impossible bends and twists to riveting cellos and booming drums. There was a certain freedom in the movements he enjoyed that was different to singing; he almost felt like he could fly up and grab the stars. His mother never saw it that way but Winona was strict with everyone so he tried not to take her heated glare on his back personally. He pointedly didn't look at her when he reached the other side of the stage in favor of turning to Spock.

Spock however refused to talk while rehearsals were officially underway, which made him essentially no fun at all. Furthermore, he subjected Jim to Finney's piercing, horribly flat tenor that made his ears cry out in pain. Ben's glory days were gone ten seasons ago, and since then the guy's been nothing but a dick who thought his voice was still a gift to humanity. Jim couldn't talk to him anymore without wanting to snatch that braided cat off his head and shove up his ass. He liked Archer a lot, but did the guy really have to keep encouraging that asshole by casting him repeatedly as the lead?

Jim grimaced behind him at Sulu, one of the stagehands, receiving a nod that showed they were in full agreement. See, Sulu could be fun when Finney was breaking glass. Why did Spock have to be his best friend again?

Finney stuttered over a word, not because of pronounciation but because his voice could barely handle the strain. Jim groaned quietly, wishing he had earplugs. Spock nudged him with his shoulder, but he couldn't tell whether he was also agreeing with him or if he was telling him to shut up. His expression certainly hadn't given any hints.

A loud whistle interrupted his musings, and Finney.  _Thank God_.

Everyone's attention turned to three men, one being Archer and the other two no one recognized. One was an unpleasant looking guy, with deep frown lines and though he was of average height he tried to make himself look taller with a superior countenance. He failed miserably; Jim didn't like him at all. On the other hand, his companion was the one holding the whistle. He didn't try to be awesome, he just  _was_. Archer seemed to like him better too.

"Sorry to interrupt," Archer bellowed, "But I have an important announcement. Most of you have heard rumors that I'm retiring."

Oh shit.

"I'm officially confirming those rumors right now, and would like to introduce you to my replacements!"

Jim frowned at the plural. Mr. Try-Too-Hard was going to be manager too? Well, there goes the neighborhood.

"This is Mr. Pike," Archer continued, gesturing to Awesome, "And Mr. Marcus," to Try-Too-Hard.

Wait, what?

"No, the last names aren't a coincidence. This is our darling Carol's father, everybody!"

Jim looked from Marcus to Carol and back while the stage erupted into whispers. How could something so sweet come from something so... _bleh_?

"I can see from your expression that you have already made judgments regarding our new managers," Spock murmured as Archer introduced Finney to Pike and Marcus.

"Pike's awesome," Jim answered instantly, "He can whistle really loud, and he obviously has ears if he's looking at Finney like that." indeed, Pike was looking at the lead tenor like he was trying not to scowl while he lied through his teeth and complimented his performance just a moment ago. "Marcus is a dick and I don't like him. I refuse to acknowledge him as Carol's father."

Spock raised an eyebrow, giving him a thoroughly unamused look. "Indeed," was all he said.

Sulu, meanwhile, came up on Jim's other side and whispered, "Marcus looks like a total dick."

Jim gestured to his good friend with a pointed expression at Spock. "See?" he hissed, then patting Sulu's shoulder, "I think you're my new best friend. My old one sucked."

Sulu snorted. Unfortunately all of the humor was sucked out of the situation when Marcus asked Finney, "You've got a big solo in Act Three, right?" when Finney nodded, smirking like the bastard he was, Marcus clapped him on the shoulder and requested, "Can you do it now? I'd love to hear it before opening night."

"I hate him," Jim nodded with finality, Sulu grunting and retreating backstage for his earplugs because he wasn't fun or awesome, but a cowardly asshole.

Then Spock mumbled, "I too am developing an illogical dislike," and Jim restored his status as best friend. They hung out more anyway.

The music started up, Jim bracing himself. There was no escaping the overdramatic, stabbing tones that was Benjamin Finney though, and the whole cast knew it. He tried to take deep breaths to calm the overwhelming urge to cover his ears. Sometimes working for this Opera House  _sucked_.

After he found out the abruptly falling background hadn't killed anyone he was grateful for the second interruption. He and Spock were probably the only ones who hadn't blown a casket when it happened; they were too used to them by now. Everyone else apparently fixated on the idea that accidents were completely preventable and therefore would never happen again despite last week's paint fiasco (don't ask).

"It's the Phantom!" Gaila, Uhura's-- _Nyota_ 's, Jim was totally using that now--and Jim's friend screamed, "I swear I saw him!"

"Where?" another dancer demanded, looking where Gaila was.

"Up there, in the rafters!" Gaila said, though Jim knew she was lying. Gaila would've said she saw the Phantom in a pizza just to laugh later at the idiots who believed her and enjoy the attention the rumor mill always brought.

"Phantom?" Pike looked to Archer, who cleared his throat, otherwise not responding to the question.

"Nero, what the hell happened?" he called up to the catwalks where Nero's ugly head peered over the side.

"I don't know, sir!" Nero smirked, pulling up the backdrop, "As God's my judge I wasn't at my post! Whoever did that, well, they must've been a ghost!"

The cast and orchestra paled, looking around at each other. Jim felt his own heart pounding--he didn't believe in ghosts, but there was definitely something, or someone, doing all this crazy shit. 

Meanwhile, Carol was helping Finney up from where the background had forced him to the ground.

"Sorry Ben," she frowned, "Accidents happen, you know."

"Accidents?!" Finney shouted indignantly, "These things happen for  _three years_ and you call them  _accidents_?!"

"Something probably came loose," Pike pointed out, hands up in a placating gesture, "We'll just--"

"No! You've been here five minutes! You don't know what it's like!" Finney snapped, "I am _done_ , do you hear me? Done!"

"Mr. Finney--" Marcus tried, but Finney was already ripping his braided cat off and storming out.

"Amateurs!" he yelled over his shoulder.

Jim would've cheered obnxiously if Spock hadn't stared him down. 

Winona approached Pike from backstage, carrying something in her hand.

Pike smiled, "Hello, Miss...?"

"Just call me Winona, and..." Winona held out an envelope with a skull seal everyone knew too well. "This is for you. From the Phantom."

Marcus rolled his eyes, "Oh for the love of God. You all actually believe there's a ghost haunting this place?"

"Sir, I believe in a lot of things," Winona told him firmly, "And the Phantom is one of 'em."

Pike smirked, taking the note instead. "I like you, Winona," he said in a way that made Jim almost want to throw up in his mouth because that was his  _mom_.

Winona hadn't responded, so Pike asked, "What does it say?"

The room waited with bated breath as the dance instructor opened the envelope and scanned the note inside. After a few suspenseful moments she looked back up at the new managers with a steady gaze.

"He welcomes you to his Opera House--"

" _His_ Opera House?" Marcus scoffed.

Winona hated being interrupted but for once managed to practice self-restraint. She continued, "And he wants you to keep leaving Box Five empty, as he often uses it. He also wishes you to, and I quote," looking back at the note, "'keep that damn squeaker out of here'."

If there was one thing Jim liked about the Phantom it was his wonderful gift for eloquence.

"Finally, he reminds you that his salary is due."

"His salary?" Pike asks flatly, taking the note.

Winona shrugged, "Archer used to pay him twenty thousand credits a month."

Marcus' squawk was priceless. Spock had to stare at Jim again until he quieted.

"So let me get this straight," Marcus snapped, fuming, "Our lead tenor walked out because some guy posing as a ghost has apparently been harrassing him, and now the bastard wants our hard earned money?"

 

"He's not a man, sir!" Gaila insisted.

"Of course not," Marcus rolled his eyes. Turning to the maestro, "We don't have time for this right now. Where's Finney's understudy?"

"Understudy?" the maestro gaped, "There's no  _understudy_! Finney wouldn't have it!"

Pike pinched the bridge of his nose while Marcus groaned, "Are you kidding me? A full house, our new patron, and we have to cancel!"

"Actually," Winona interjected, "The Viscount and the rest of our audience won't have to be disappointed."

Pike cocked an eyebrow. "Really?"

Winona locked eyes wth Jim. "My son, James, is more than qualified to take over Finney's part."

Jim's eyes widened comically, feet rooted to the spot. Yeah, he'd been getting lessons and joking about performing lead roles, but he never actually thought he'd do it.

"You're sure?" Pike asked, though there was a smile in his eyes that said he was just being formal.

"He's been taking lessons from a great teacher," Winona nodded.

"Who?"

Jim usually did some of his best work when everyone was looking at him, essentially backing him into a corner. But this hadn't been the same, and he had to repeatedly glance at Spock before he could pluck up the courage to even answer.

"W-well I..." he shrugged, "I never actually caught a name."

"I'd love to see this," Marcus grumbled. Gesturing down stage, "Well get on up there, boy. Let's see what yah got."

Holy shit. Holy _shit_.

Spock ended up having to push him, Winona's glare paving the rest of the way. Funny thing was, all Jim could think about before the music started was he had on horrible body paint and sparkling nipples.

He stuttered at first, voice quiet and strained as he tried to get through the first couple lines. Fuck, fuck, fuck, he was messing up so badly, his mother was gonna  _kill_ him for embarrassing her; he could almost see her now, brandishing the crop she always carried with her because she was a crazy bitch--

_"Dammit Jim, focus."_

The voice came from nowhere, despite Jim's quickly scanning the seats for the source. It was futile even if he hadn't been up on stage; he never saw him, only heard.

_"Breathe, you idiot. And stand up straight, you look like a lazy teenager. There. Now relax and sing the damn song right."_

Despite the insults, Jim drew from the disembodied instructions. He felt his body loosen up, his diaphragm remember how to work. Within moments his voice was stronger, and with it came that soaring feeling he had come to know since that shadow first drew him into the abandoned piano room. Dancing might've made him grab the stars, but singing like this enabled him to stay and explore them all. He would almost say it was on par with sex.

Once the song was finished, Jim was met with stunned silence. He licked his lips, turning around to his mother and the managers. Winona was smirking, Pike was looking pleasantly surprised, and Marcus was muttering, "Damn, son."

"You know the part?" Pike asked.

"Yes sir," Jim responded.

"Then get suited up, you're playing lead."

The verdict was met with deafening applause.

{~*&*~}

Jim's official performance that night was met with similar results, except the audience actually gave him a standing ovation. He'd never seen so many roses outside of the prop closet.

{~*&*~}

_"You did good, kid."_

Jim was looking around for the voice's owner again when Spock came up behind him.

"Well done," he said, Jim spinning around to face him, "I must confess I did not think you capable of such ability."

"Thanks, I guess," Jim panted. He was still breathless and a bit shaky from the high. "Think Finney'll like it?"

Spock's mouth twitched, "I believe so."

"Yeah Jimmy," Winona appeared, wrapping her arm around her son's shoulder, "Way to go. He'll be happy."

Jim's mouth went dry, because he knew she hadn't meant Ben. "Mom, what--"

But Winona was already distracted with glaring at Spock and her other dancers, both male and female. " _You_ little shits, on the other hand," she thundered, "Sucked royal ass. We're rehearsing! Move it!" and she was gone.

Gaila, however, managed to sneak behind a set piece until she could run out and almost tackle Jim with a hug. "That was amazing!" she squealed, "Where did you learn to sing like that? Do you really not know his name or are you just holding out on us because you want him all to yourself?"

Jim laughed, "Gaila, my mom'll kill you when she finds out you're trying to play hooky. You know that, right?"

"Shut up and answer my questions, Jim Kirk!"

"I really don't know his name!" Jim insisted, prying her off of him, "Hell, I've never actually seen him."

"What? How's that possible?"

"I dunno, he sticks to the shadows mostly."

Gaila scrunched up her face. "Don't you think that's a bit creepy?"

Jim rolled his eyes, "If he starts molesting me and watching me sleep, I'll let you know." she still stared at him dubiously. "Come on Gaila, I'm not some damsel in distress. So far all he does is teach and insult me, which I think is his way of caring. I'll be fine."

He didn't tell her about how he heard his voice, and how he couldn't go many places without hearing it, because seriously? He had just performed as a lead. Save the cops for later.

"Gaila!" Winona shouted from down the hall, "Get your ass over here!"

Gaila pouted, "Well, have fun with your stalker in Finney's dressing room."

Jim perked up, "Oh yeah! I can use that now, can't I?"

Gaila swatted him, "Bastard," and ran off to face Winona's wrath.

{~*&*~}

"James Tiberius Kirk," an unfamiliar, deep voice boomed from the doorway of Finney's outrageously huge dressing room (hey, it was huge for a guy who'd been crammed in the chorus dressing rooms since he got to the damn Opera House) not ten minutes after Jim went in and gaped at the plush couches and enormous mirrors.

Jim peeked out from behind the divider, where he'd been unbuttoning his costume. The newcomer had slicked back dark hair and a long face, wearing an expensive looking suit. There was something in his eyes that struck him as familiar, so Jim didn't kick him out immediately.

"Uh," he cautiously came out from behind the divider, re-doing the buttons, "That's me."

"Where is your gold scarf?" the stranger asked, playful smirk hinting at his lips. Jim stared at him in blatant confusion, so he added, "You can't have lost it after I went through all that trouble. I was only, what, fourteen, when I--"

"--when you saved my scarf from getting washed out at sea!" Jim grinned excitedly, "Khan, holy shit!"

Khan chuckled, accepting his old friend's embrace. "You were splendid up there,  _Captain_ ," he teased.

Jim snorted, pulling back to give him a light shove, "Shuddup, I was ten!"

"What was it you used to tell me? Ah, yes," Khan put his hands on his hips in a terrible imitation of Jim when he was a kid. "C'mon, Khan! We're gonna boldly go where no man has gone before!"

"Dude--"

"And then you took me back to the beach where we first met every time."

Jim's face was scarlet with embarrassment but he laughed with him anyway, because this was  _Khan_ and they hadn't seen each other in over _ten years._ When their laughter dissolved into just smiling at each other, he asked him what he'd been up to.

"Oh, didn't you hear? I'm the Opera House's new patron," Khan replied, "We're going to be seeing a lot of each other."

"Took over your dad's position as _Viscount,_  then?" Jim chuckled, "The title suits you. I always thought you were too regal and sophisticated for the rest of us peasants."

"Now, now, don't sell yourself short," Khan gripped Jim's shoulders, "I had not been in jest, Jim. You truly were splendid."

Jim swallowed, amazed at the sincerity he saw in the other's eyes. His fading blush returned full force; he'd never known what to do with compliments, least of all one like this. He could've only whispered, "Thanks."

Khan's crooked smile returned. "How about I take you to dinner to celebrate your first triumph?" he asked quietly.

The offer snapped Jim back into reality. "Actually I can't," he replied apologetically, "My mom--"

"She never minded us being out late. It'll be fine."

"Well, there's also my teacher, and he doesn't exactly--"

"Since when have you listened to teachers?"

"Since this one's actually a good one and I don't want to make him mad?"

Khan chortled, already heading back to the door, "Meet me outside in two minutes, _Captain_."

"Wait, Khan--!" the door shut.

Jim groaned, quickly taking off the uncomfortable jacket for his costume before running out of the room after him. At least then he'd be able to run faster without having to stop and adjust the awful fabric. All these years working here,  _living_ here, and he'd forgotten baby powder. His mother will be ashamed. (Hell, _Spock_ will be ashamed.)

Unfortunately, Khan's longer and stronger legs had already gotten him lost in the bustle of post-performance hype. Jim wasn't about to give up, so he headed back to the stage for a shortcut to the main lobby he found as a kid. It was dark back there, but spacious enough to get around comfortably and feel for obstacles to avoid. Jim may or may not have tripped a few times anyway.

He'd been about halfway there when someone called, "And where do you think  _you're_ going?"

He spun around. Only darkness met him, yet he'd been sure..."Hello?"

"Hello to you too."

It had definitely come from less than five feet to the right. Jim reached out, stepping in that direction, but his fingers closed on air.

"What're you doing?" his teacher asked gruffly.

"I've never been able to touch you," Jim (specifically hadn't) whined, "If you're gonna make me stay here like a grounded kid--"

"You  _are_ a kid."

"I'm twenty-five years old!"

"Yeah, twenty-five years old and still whines like a manchild."

Jim sighed, "Seriously, though. I was just on my way to tell him no."

There was a pause. "Good, 'cause you're still in costume. You do realize that, right?"

"It's not like he gave me a lot of time!"

The other muttered, "Impatient bastard. Can't wait to get into your pants, huh?"

"He was my friend when I was little," Jim protested, "And he's not like that."

"Jim, anybody who heard you tonight will want to get into your pants."

"...is that a compliment?"

A scoff. "Unbelievable...yes it's a compliment, jackass. That's two already from me tonight, don't expect another."

"So I wasn't just imagining it earlier," Jim smiled.

"No, you weren't. Although it was a miracle I could even get there in time since those dumbasses decided to sell my bo--"

"Kirk, what a surprise!"

Jim started, turning to see one of the stagehands with his flashlight. He ought've learned his name out of courtesy but they hardly ever spoke outside of necessity, so he had to use "you" all the time.

"Hey!" he greeted jovially, glancing behind him to see if he could get even the faintest of a glimpse. Sadly, it seemed like his teacher had made his escape. The man moved fast, he'll give him that.

"Did I hear you speaking to someone?" the stagehand asked.

"What? No! I was just on my way to the lobby," Jim replied, looking back at the newcomer, "Were you..." he noticed the leer on the larger man's face, "...anyway, yeah, lobby. I'll see you later."

A meaty hand clamped on his arm, forcing him back around. "I wasn't done talking to you," the stagehand said.

"Well Cupcake, I was done talking to you," Jim told him firmly, "So let me go, or I'll have to make you."

Cupcake barked a laugh, "I'd love to see you try."

There was something Jim learned about this guy: he had one helluva right hook. It took Jim down, causing him to bang his head hard on the unforgiving wood floor. He managed to push himself up in time to dodge a well-aimed kick, retaliating with his own punch. It landed on Cupcake's face, right in the jaw, but it hardly slowed him down. Jim found himself shoved against the wall and kneed in the gut not two seconds after, barely having time to react before his adversary's fist connected once more with his face, forcing him back where he started on the floor, and kicked again for good measure.

For a big guy, Cupcake wasn't half bad.

A boot settled on his stomach, knocking the air out of his lungs. "Not so tough now, are y--" Cupcake cut off with a strangled noise. "What the...holy shit..."

Jim made a soft inquisitive noise, but it went unanswered. Why? Because Cupcake ran off screaming. Normally Jim would've laughed about something like that, no matter how horrible of a nosebleed he was having.

But Cupcake was shouting, "IT'S THE PHANTOM!! HE'S REAL!!" and that? Took the fun right out of the equation.

The flashlight had been left behind, so Jim could see the shadow of a man encompass the space above him. The Phantom--the actual fucking Phantom--stood right in front of him.

_This is it,_ Jim thought,  _I'm gonna die._

He was proved wrong. Instead of putting a lasso around his throat like the myth went, the Phantom reached out and...took Jim's hand.

"Come with me, kid," he spoke, "That head wound won't fix itself."

And he would recognize that voice anywhere.

"You..." he wheezed, grunting as he was pulled into the darkness.

"Let's just focus on getting you down before you pass out, alright?"

A rush of cold air met Jim's face, along with the overwhelming smell of underground. It was on par with the cast parties' aftermath, but right now it seemed so much worse because Jim's blood mixed with it, not helping the dizziness he felt from that hit to the floor.

"Stay with me," the Phantom--his teacher, mother _fucker_ \--instructed sharply.

"I can' fucking believe this," Jim muttered, his small voice echoing off of the stone walls.

He lasted right up until a small boat came into view, illuminated by actual flaming torches. Jim looked up at the back of the Phantom's head, saw the unruly brown hair, and--passed out. 


	3. A Guiding Hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you've taken a liking to this story so far :) happy reading

Khan found him stumbling about in the hall outside of Winona's room, as if in a daze.

"Jim!" he called, rushing over, "Are you alright?"

"Khan," Jim breathed, looking at him as if seeing him for the first time, " _Khan_ , oh thank God."

"What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."  _Maybe you have._

Jim's already sickly pallor whitened further. "I...I was...I..."

"Jim, it's okay," Khan drew him close; Jim clutched him like a lifeline, "It's okay now."

_No,_ Jim thought,  _no it's not._

{~*~}

_Earlier_

Jim was floating; he didn't know where, but it was nice. Peaceful.

There was a voice. It wasn't talking or shouting. It was...singing, so  _beautifully,_ with lilting music, the likes of which he'd never heard before. It seemed to wrap him up in a warm blanket and surround him with its loving tones like mist.

...Mist. 

Mist on...a lake, and on that lake...a boat, a black boat.

Jim's eyes snapped open.

_And in the boat there was a man._

The previous--night? Hour?--hit him like Cupcake's punch, making Jim conscious of his pounding head. He groaned softly, reaching up to rub his temple, only to find a bandage.

_"That head wound won't fix itself."_

Jim took a deep breath. Before he dealt with _that_ , he needed to know where he was. He was definitely in a bed, a very comfortable one and not at all like the hard dormitory bunks. It was shaped differently too, round, and he could see the tops of a carved design at the foot. It had deep blue sheets and translucent curtains the same color. Through them he could see what looked like solid rock on both sides, opening up in front of him to that glossy lake, the boat docked on the stone floor. A cave? He'd been led underground, so it would make sense.

Jim sat up slowly, shivering with surprise when the chilly air hit his bare skin. He was shirtless, and the pants he wore were not like the itchy wool of his costume. They were silk, black, and just a little too big. Had the Phantom... _dressed_ _him_?

Well, at least he'd picked last night to wear briefs.

Finding an opening in the curtain, Jim quietly climbed out of the bed. There was hardly anything else in this part of the cave aside from stacks of what looked like music and an old chair on the other side of the bed that had Jim's costume folded up on it. Not really wanting to relive the horrors of wearing that shirt again, he left it where it was and wandered towards the lake.

There was another passageway to the right, lit by candelabras. It curved so Jim couldn't see what was beyond it but seeing the rest of the place he found he didn't really care. It was cluttered, yet organized, more music sheets and bounded scores piled up everywhere, little trinkets and items resting on them and a few end tables. More candelabras stood in corners and in other places, creating a dim lighting but bright enough to see easily with. But the main attraction of the room, Jim thought, was the large organ set against the far wall. It was much smaller than the one up in the Opera House itself, but no less impressive, with a small mirror stretching across the top. The mirror showed the face of the figure bent over it.

Jim stopped marveling at the makeshift model of the Opera House stage to stare in wonderment at the reflected image. Eyes closed, lost in the flowing notes coming from experienced fingers; brown hair now combed down some but still persistently rebelling against the order; scowl lines relaxed into bliss, disappearing under a mask perfectly fitted to the right side of an otherwise gorgeous face.

Why the mask?

The question drove Jim across the room until he was a foot away, looking down at the other's hunched form.

Why did he wear a mask? Why had he always refused to show himself?

Jim raised his hand to touch, but hesitated as another question took shape in his mind. What if he hid half his face for a reason?

His thoughts were interrupted as the Phantom's hands paused over the keys. Blissful relaxation turned into a frown, eyelids opening to reveal hard, world-weary hazel. Jim's wrist was caught in mid-air.

"I wouldn't do that," the Phantom suggested gruffly, standing so he could face Jim.

"Why not?" Jim asked, unabashadely gaping at finally being able to gaze at the face close up.

The Phantom's jaw set. "Just," he dropped the offending wrist; Jim let it fall back to his side, "Don't, alright?"

Jim let the subject go with the intent on bringing it up later. His eyes narrowed, "So this whole time you've been the _Phantom of the Opera_ and you didn't think to mention it?"

He got an eye roll in response. "I'm not gonna kill you if that's what you're worried about," the Phantom sighed, brushing past him to pick up one of the bound scores and putting it on the organ.

"You sure? I mean, I did just find out your big secret, and now I know you live somewhere underground," Jim said it lightly, but part of him looked at the potential menace in the other's half-face and may or may not have started to panic a bit.

The Phantom fixed him with a glare. "How's your head, kid?" he snapped.

...right.

"Thanks," Jim murmured, relaxing minutely.

The glare softened back into a simple frown. "You're welcome."

"But," he tilted his head, "There's a hospital not far from the Opera House, and in case of emergency there's a resident doctor. Cupcake would've babbled, and--" he tensed, "Shit, what if he did?" groaning, "Everyone's probably flipping out."

"I don't trust those doctors. And it's fine," the Phantom replied, waving away the concern, opening the score and turning to a half-finished page.

"My friend always says that fine 'has variable definitions'."

Hazel flashed. "Well I'm not your friend, and I'm using the positive one."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because I made sure, dammit. Now will you shut your mouth? You shouldn't even be up with that," the Phantom said, nodding to Jim's bandages.

Jim slid onto the organ bench, "Better?"

"No, you little bastard. Get off."

"Y'know, I always loved how classy you were when you wrote those notes with your colorful language."

The Phantom stared at him, body rigid, for a few seconds. Jim didn't know what it was he said but it was soon forgotten as his companion shook his head and muttered, "I don't know why I bother," and sat beside him; however, unlike Jim, he was facing the organ, so when Jim turned to look at him again he was stuck staring at the mask.

"How long am I going to be down here?" he asked, opting to gaze at the lake instead. That mask was too blank, too dissimilar to the man on the other side; it was weird to talk to.

"Until I say so," was the simple reply.

The body next to him stiffened once more as Jim leaned against it. "I don't get a say at all?" he frowned, "That's a bit unfair, don't you think?"

"I think I helped you get a lead role, saved your ass, and gave you my bed," the Phantom responded, taking off his gloves.

"Is that a no?"

"No, Jim."

"You're so controlling."

"And you're an idiot. Now warm up."

"Wh--are we having a lesson?"

The Phantom sighed, used to having to be patient with his student. "You're not going to lie back down, are you?"

"No."

"So yes, we are. Do you want me to play the scales, or do you got 'em?"

"...can I get water first?"

{~*&*~}

The "Phantom" had sent in a fresh wave of notes and James Kirk was missing. As far as mornings go, this one wasn't Chris' best.

"Have you seen these?" Marcus raged, waving three different newspapers in his face.

"I have a feeling I'm about to," Chris muttered, reaching for his coffee. It was too early for this shit.

Marcus shoved the papers into his hands, preventing his obtaining the wonderful drink. Chris sighed but forced himself to read the headlines in the Entertainment section. It wasn't hard to find the ones he was supposed to see: _Mystery of the Gala Night_ ,  _Tenor's Sudden Exit_ ,  _Foul Play?_

"...and?"

"And now Kirk's missing! Pike," Marcus snatched the papers back; Chris immediately took his coffee, "The question is, what are we going to do from here? We don't have a lead tenor, and I highly doubt there'll be another James."

"Well, at least we sold out."

" _That doesn't matter if we don't have a damn cast!_ "

"Why don't you worry about the guy who thinks he can give us orders and take our money?" Chris wondered, holding up his note.

"You got one too, then?" Marcus took out his own from his pocket.

"All I got from mine was 'salary'. What about yours?"

"Compliments on the gala, and a reminder to keep Finney outta 'his' Opera House, as well as encouraging me to cast Kirk for the next lead role we've got."

Chris couldn't deny how he and the Phantom agreed that Finney's voice sounded like a dying walrus who smoked one too many, Kirk sounding like an angel next to (anyone) him. But he was grown ass man so he didn't comment to one of Finney's closeted biggest fan.

"What do you propose we do about him? There's no traceable evidence, so the authorities can't get involved," Marcus added.

"Well--"

The office door burst open to reveal Viscount Singh, face pulled together in obvious anger. "Which one of you sent me this?" he demanded, holding up yet another note. How many of these damn things were there?

"Neither of us," Chris assured him.

Singh scoffed, "Forgive me if I find that hard to believe."

Marcus held out his hand, "Let me see it." Singh gave him the note, still glaring. "'Khan -- If you repeat your actions last night I will rip your balls off and hang them from the rafters. Don't attempt to see James Kirk again.' And you think  _we_ wrote this?"

"If you didn't, who did?" Singh asked in a low voice.

"The man who calls himself 'the Phantom'," Chris replied, taking another sip of his coffee.

"That's--"

Suddenly Finney stormed in, brightening up Chris' morning with his glorious ass.

" _You_!" he screeched, pointing an accusing finger at Singh, "How are you send me this?!"

"Send _what_?" Singh barked.

" _This_!" Finney shoved a note into his hands. Chris sighed, regretting the life choices that got him tangled in this mess.

Singh tore open the envelope, reading aloud, "'Finney -- As far as I'm concerned, your ass is fired from lead roles permanently. Get yourself some damn singing lessons or never open a score again. Should you attempt to take James Kirk's place in the next production, I give you my word that it will not be plesant for you.' Why did you think I sent this?"

"You're his lover and everyone knows it," Finney retorted, "Don't think no one saw you go into _my_ dressing room last night. What else did you promise Kirk, huh? Money? More fame?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Singh quipped.

As if there hadn't been a big enough crowd, Winona strode into the tiny office with another announcement.

"Jim's back."

"Oh good," Marcus grumbled.

"Is he alright?" Chris asked.

Winona nodded, "Got a nasty bruise on his head from being the idiot he is, but other than that he's just tired."

"Where is he now?" Singh pressed.

"Khan, I thought it was you. Well, you'll be happy to know my son is perfectly safe in my room, no thanks to you."

Chris had to admit, he was really starting to like that woman.

"Give him some time, he'll be right back on his feet," Winona informed him before leaving as quickly as she'd come.

"There you have it," Chris said, until he noticed that Winona had dropped something on his desk. With a silent groan, he picked up the fifth note. If he ever met this Phantom face to face he was gonna give him a nice big stab with a pen.

_I have now sent you several notes_ \--heh, no kidding. Bastard-- _detailing how my theater is to be run._

_You have not followed my instructions. I will give you one last chance..._

{~*&*~}

As the office erupted into shouts of indignation and various strings of curses involving her son's name, Winona walked towards the lobby steps, intending to get some tea before another dance rehearsal. However, she found her way blocked by Spock at the bottom of the stairs.

"Winona," Spock began, following her up the steps, "I heard your report to our managers and I must ask that you at least tell me the truth, as what you told them was a blatant lie."

Winona patted him on the shoulder, "Dunno what you're talking about, kid."

"While I respect the privacy of my instructors and peers, I did look into your quarters in my search for Jim," Spock explained, "I will of course accept any punishment you think fit, but I also trust that you know I did it because I am...quite worried for my friend."

Winona hesitated. She looked at Spock, who's eyebrows were furrowed and stance off from the exhaustion of being up most of the night. "...Spock, I do know where Jim is. But I can't tell you."

"Why not?"

"Just know that he's as safe as he can be, and he'll be back soon. Okay?"

"You failed to answer my query."

Winona resumed walking. "That's because it's a secret, Spock," she called over her shoulder, "Now come on. We have a rehearsal."

{~*&*~}

"Can we try something else? I'm sick of doing Finney's old solos."

The Phantom cocked his visible eyebrow, "Like what?"

Jim tapped his finger against the unfinished score. "What about this?"

"That," both hands shut the cover and removed it, "Isn't done yet."

"But that one song looked awesome!" Jim protested, making a grab for it unsuccessfully.

The Phantom huffed; his cheek was slightly red. "You couldn't sing that." seeing Jim's face, "Not--I didn't mean it that way, dumbass. The song's a duet."

Jim shrugged, "There's two of us. Sing it with me."

The entire left side of the Phantom's face was now flushed. Jim almost laughed at how much he resembled a scared teen on his first date in that moment. "Maybe some other time, Jim."

"If you're shy about it or somethin', let me take a moment to talk to you about your fashion sense."

"You live in an Opera House, you damn well dress like it. I'm not _shy_."

"Then...?" Jim gestured to the score still kept out of his reach.

"No."

"Aw, c'mon!"

"No."

"But _Bones_!"

"I said--what?"

Jim pointed to the mask. "It's white like a bone, and you clearly have a thing for skeletons, what with the seal you put on the envelopes and that weird monkey box over there. I'm not gonna call you 'Phantom' and you never sign your name on any of your compositions so I thought I'd make one up. I did it for Uhura once; she punched me."

He was quiet. Jim looked at him, hoping the nickname wasn't completely offensive, and then he saw the gleam in the other's eyes. It was pure and open; his heart skipped a beat from simply glancing at it.

"It's just, y'know...a nickname," he shrugged a shoulder, "What, you never had one before?"

"Not like that," Bones mumbled.

"So," Jim piped up, breaking the silence that had ensued and snapping them both out of the almost-moment, "Song. Singing it."

"No," Bones repeated.

"If you're not shy about it then what's the big deal?"

"It's not something two...friends should sing." he said the word 'friends' slowly, glancing at Jim as if he'd correct him.

Jim didn't. "I saw some of the lyrics. I know it's about two characters about to have sex. You composed it; I thought it didn't bother you."

"It doesn't," Bones ground out.

"Exactly! I mean really," Jim reached over, "With this face-- _mother of fuck--_!"

"DAMMIT!"

Jim suddenly found himself once again acquainted with the floor, but he was far from caring; he was too busy gaping at the newly burned picture in his memory, one that Bones tried to cover up with his hand.

" _I told you not to fucking do it!_ " the Phantom raged, visible eye blazing into Jim's wide ones, "Are you happy now, Jim?  _Are you fucking proud of yourself_? Got to see  _the Phantom's_  face! I oughta kill you right now, right  _fucking_ now, leave your damn corpse for your  _old friend_  to find. I bet he'd still want to fuck you, bloodied shit n' all!" he sent things crashing to the floor, storming to the other side of the cave. Jim scrambled back; he didn't scare easily but at that moment he was terrified. Not even his stepfather was this bad before he got himself arrested. And that  _face_...never in all his life had he seen...Jim rushed towards the cave wall and threw up.

He'd fucked up. Everything was going so well and he'd fucked it all up.

" _Shit._ Jim," Bones--Phantom--whatever--called behind him, "Jim, I'm sorry. Dammit, I'm so sorry."

Jim couldn't answer him.

"Jim?"

He forced himself to breathe, straighten himself. He wouldn't wallow; he wouldn't be that person.

When he turned around, his expression was set determination while Bones' was open again, only hurt, ashamed, and half-present.

"Let me see it again."

Bones shook his head, "I can't let you do that."

"Let. Me. See. It."

Bones stepped forward, hissing, "Listen to yourself. You're this close to having a damn panic attack, the wall's covered with vomit. For once in your damn life, have some self-preservation. Gimme that," snatching the mask from Jim's trembling hand and turning around to put it back on. Jim hated the way he flinched when the covered face showed itself again.

"It's high time you went back," Bones muttered, "Get yourself cleaned up."

{~*&*~}

_Currently_

"You're making a mistake," Winona implored to her managers.

"You just want the glory of having your son as lead," Marcus accused, "We're putting Finney on and that's final. Kirk can play the pageboy."

Winona rounded on Pike, ensnaring his arm. " _Fix this_ ," she murmured urgently to him, "I'm telling you right now you don't know what you're messing with--"

"Winona, whoever this man is, he's obviously disturbed and needs help. If I were you, I'd be more focused on how obsessed he seems to be with your son."

"I'm surrounded by morons!"

Khan took that moment to return from where he'd wandered the Opera House to think. Behind him was a very concerned Spock supporting a pale, sickly Jim.

_I'm gonna kill that bastard,_ Winona vowed, rushing over, "Why is he out of bed?"

"He told me he wished to spend some time away from the Opera House," Khan reported, "If you would allow me, I have a house not far from here where he can rest in peace."

Winona was so pissed she nodded in vigorous acquiescence, "Get 'im out of here."

She and that man were going to have _words_.

{~*&*~}

"You fucking asshole!"

The Phantom sighed. Always a pleasure to have Winona Kirk in his home, _really._  "I told him not to do it."

"And after all these years of knowing him you thought that would be enough?!" Winona shrieked, knocking over a pile of music.

"Dammit woman," the Phantom growled, replacing it, "It's not _my_ fault you raised a curious idiot!"

"But it's your fault you let your guard down too soon!" Winona retorted, "And now he's off at Khan's house--"

" _What?_ "

"Oh don't act so surprised! You deserved it!" Winona grabbed his chin and yanked it forward, lowering her voice to a threatening venom, "I'm not cleaning up after you this time. You take responsibility for your sophomoric ass. And if you  _ever_ make my Jimmy look like that again, I swear to God you won't have any of your wretched face left."

He scowled but didn't answer. Winona dropped his jaw and stormed into the passage. There was the faint sound of a mirror clicking, and she was gone.

The Phantom shouted in rage and slammed his fist onto the Opera House replica, accidentally crushing Nero's figurine.

He had work to do. 


	4. Nero's Last Play

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh...so...hey there.
> 
> I have no excuse for taking so long. I had surgery on my sinuses, and during my recovery period I let Assassin's Creed snatch me into a haystack. As if that wasn't enough, I then allowed BBC Musketeers to kidnap me in a dark alley.
> 
> Someone called Anna commented yesterday, and I woke up to it today, reminding me of my terrible negligence. SO, Phantom is playing in my ears (25th Anniversary, my favorite Phantom singing) and I am ready for Bones' harping on resevoirs and Jim Kirk's edition of Jackass!
> 
> Thank you, if you've actually bothered waiting for this.

Back in the manager's office, Finney was on the warpath. Nothing out of the ordinary--in Chris' opinion, the man was a geyser stuffed into flesh--except this time, there would be a lot more groveling involved.

For Marcus, anyway. Chris may not trust this Phantom, let alone like him, but he had to admit he knew what he was talking about; Finney's voice blew eardrums. If this Opera House wanted a future, Jim must be part of it. That kid had what it took to be something amazing.

"Your public needs you!" Marcus pleaded, 'public' of course meaning--"We need you too!" 'we' of course meaning himself.

Finney turned a delightful shade of magenta. "Wouldn't you rather have your precious little blondie?" he seethed.

Yes. Yes they would. Regardless, Chris knew from one look at Jim's face that he wasn't up for this show's lead. The Phantom's demands didn't take that devastated pallor into account; nobody except maybe a handful of tone-deaf idiots would appreciate it, but the next words out of Chris' mouth were necessary.

He interrupted Marcus, stepping forward with a hard expression. "Look, Finney," he snapped, arms crossed, "it's clear you forget who's actually in charge here.  _We_ hire  _you_ , not the other way around. Now I've decided you're going to take the lead role for  _Il Muto,_ but after this, your behavior has shown me you don't have what it takes to stay here. Unless you prove me wrong, you're on thin ice. So shut your mouth and get out of this office."

The twin scandalized expressions he was met with turned out to be much better than his coffee.

~*~

Jim returned in time for rehearsals the next day, accepting his role as pageboy in a silence befitting his role. If he returned hand in hand with Viscount Singh, no one said a word about it to him.

A strange tension hung over the ensemble while they practiced; Winona did her best to ignore it, but even her professionalism gave way to worried glances Jim's way. Her son's liveliness had morphed into something subdued and not at all like him; the only time his face lit up a fraction was during Khan's visits. The Phantom deserved each and every ounce of the blossoming affection, so she let it slide without a word.

Which came to another reason behind the tension besides Jim's mysterious disappearance and changed nature. The Phantom had made his own disappearing act; everyone kept looking about, expecting another set piece to fall on Finney, a noose to pop up where it shouldn't be,  _anything_ , but every time they were met with nothing out of the ordinary. Somehow it was more unsettling than when the ghost had been actively trying to sabotage Finney's career.

Something was up. Winona dreaded what might happen.

She was right to worry.

~*~

 _Il Muto_ was an opera whose set pieces and costumes looked like they'd stepped right out of a Rococo painting, yet Jim didn't comment on any of it. Sulu, Spock, and Nyota exchanged many a concerned glance over this, though every attempt to get Jim's humor back was met with wan smiles and haunted looks.

"He is guilty about something," Spock murmured one day between rehearsals, "I do not know what."

Jim never closed himself off to Spock before; the two of them had been inseparable since the day they met. This was serious. After the opera finished, the three of them resolved to corner him instead of going to the wrap party with everyone else.

They wouldn't get the chance.

~*~

Carol's voice, at least, made The Countess' foolishness charming in its own way. Finney's screeching just made The Count's faithlessness irritating.

Chris glanced at Marcus, made sure he wasn't paying attention, and stuffed his brand new ear plugs into his ears.  _Ah_.

Meanwhile, backstage, Winona watched everything like a hawk.

"Though I would happily take the maid with me!" Carol smirked, and the audience laughed.

Finney turned his wrist so his fan blocked his face from Carol's. "The old fool is leaving!" More laughter.

In her lovely soprano, Carol sang her intent to hide in the corner to observe her new spouse, who she suspected to be untrue. So far, so good. Winona didn't trust it for a second.

Adieux were exchanged between the couple, then Jim was back to the fore. His acting kept his face animated, but those who knew him could see the tightness around his eyes.

"Away with this pretense!" Finney exclaimed, helping Jim tear off his maid's skirts and bonnet. "You cannot speak, but kiss me in my Countess' absence!"

_Poor fool, she makes me laugh, ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!_

Nothing was happening. Why wasn't anything happening? Winona clenched and unclenched her fists as Finney's screeching voice went on and on.

Then, finally, the tension reached its breaking point.

_If she knew the truth, she'd never, ever, go--!_

"Didn't I tell you idiots, that Box Five was to be kept empty?!"

Winona's eyes squeezed shut as The Phantom's voice boomed through the auditorium, freezing everyone present. Everyone but Gaila, whose fear was genuine this time as she shrieked, "It's him! The Phantom! He's here!"

Then Jim shuddered from his head to his toes, as if a chill had passed through him. He whispered something, but Winona couldn't hear without a mic.

Finney heard though, and in spite of his own shivering, he rounded on Jim and hissed, "Y-your part is  _silent_ , little toad!" _  
_

The Phantom growled, "That the best you can come up with, you sniveling bastard? Let's see who's really the toad."

In that moment, Winona had a brief flash of admiration for Finney, as he squared his shoulders and indignantly told the maestro, "From the top."

Although racked with nerves himself, Jim went along with it, not knowing what else to do. Winona knew it wasn't over; a couple little intimidating comments were the least of their worries now.

She locked eyes with Pike, whose ear plugs laid forgotten on the floor. He clearly shared her opinion, as he normally did. Smart guy.

"You cannot speak!" Finney emphasized the last word with a smirk obviously directed towards The Phantom, and there went Winona's admiration. "But kiss me in my--"

No one will ever be able to describe the sound that came out of Finney's throat except for one word: toad.

Winona's blood chilled as The Phantom started to laugh. She never heard him laugh, least of all with such savage abandon.

Nevertheless, Finney tried again:

_Poor fool he makes me laugh, ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!_

_Ha--_ that sound again.  _Ha--!_ Again. The Phantom's laughter rang louder.

"Keep croaking like that, and the whole place might come down!" he called, voice filled with malicious promise.

Winona implored Pike with her eyes; the man sprang into action, accompanied by a frantic Marcus. In no time they were on the stage, where Finney was in the process of running off in humiliation.

With his usual firmness, Pike held up his hands and said, "Ladies and gentlemen, we apologize. The opera will continue in ten minutes, with James Kirk as The Count." his announcement was followed by excited applause.

"In the meantime, ladies and gentlemen," Marcus added, flipping quickly through his playbill, "We would like to give you the ballet from Act...Three of tonight's opera! Maestro, bring the ballet forward."

Nothing happened.

" _Now_!"

The maestro jolted, shaking his head as if to clear it. He rounded up his orchestra in practiced movements while Pike thanked the audience for their patience.

Begrudgingly Winona made herself calm down at bit. Surely a stunt like that and the results it yielded had been enough to satisfy him. She couldn't say she knew The Phantom well, but she knew he acted in spurts. Once Jim was onstage, he'd be lulled into appeasement.

He had to be.

Really, she should've known.

At first, despite its hurried start, the ballet settled the audience with its soothing movements and precision. It wasn't their best, but Winona was satisfied under the circumstances.

But.

A strange noise caught her attention from the rafters. She couldn't see anything, but a cold knot of fear clenched her stomach as the Prima Ballerina glided onto the stage and the violins picked up their pace.

"Oh no," she whispered, feeling the color drain from her face as she caught a glimpse of his white mask. "No, no, no!"

As soon as she started to shove through the crowd behind her, Nero fell. The auditorium erupted in screams as he seized on the end of the noose, growing louder when he stilled.

Above all of those screams, above Pike's aborted placations to the audience, Winona heard it: The Phantom was laughing again.

"Jim!" she shouted, "Where's Jim?!"

She was only met with Spock's wide eyes. He shook his head.

~*~

Jim hadn't expected to be followed when he sprinted up to the roof, but there Khan was, shouting after him as he burst out the door and into the gathering snow. That didn't stop him.

"Where are you?" he rasped, looking wildly around him. "You bastard,  _WHERE ARE YOU_?!"

Abruptly he was snatched against Khan, who was calling his name. "What are you doing? There's no one up here but you and I!"

"No, he's here," Jim snarled, breaking free of his hold and striding forward. "He's  _always_ here! Wherever I go, he's one step behind me!"

"Who? This  _Phantom_?" Khan shook his head, taking Jim's hand, "Jim, what happened to the stagehand was an accident. Whoever was up there was just playing a prank that went too far--"

Jim rounded on him, "I've been there, Khan! I've been to his--his lair, or whatever he calls it! It's real, all it's real, especially that..." he gripped his hair, eyes wide and manic, "that  _face_. Fuck, Khan, I've never seen anything like that  _face_ \--"

Khan gripped his shoulders. "You were imagining things. There is no such thing as The Phantom of the Opera, Jim. Whatever you think you saw...what is it?" for Jim's face had changed, panic fading into something like thoughtfulness and...sympathy?

Jim's shoulders slumped, hands dropping to his sides. He looked up at Khan, guilt returning full force. "I didn't think he was capable of killing someone, though. He was--nice to me. And he told me not to take his mask off, but I didn't listen. The way he looked at me--he's so  _sad_ , Khan. So lonely."

Mad. Jim was mad.

Khan sighed through his nose. "We must get you back," he said, "they will be looking for you."

Jim shook his head. "You go back. I need a minute." Khan started to protest, "Just a minute. Alright?" he mustered up a weak smile, and while that hardly reassured Khan, the other man turned on his heel and disappeared, leaving the roof in silence.

Jim was the first to break it, voice stronger, stance widened as if in anticipation for a fight. "Nero was a creep, but he didn't deserve to die."

He turned just in time to see the shadows convulse near a statue of Apollo playing his lyre; they melted into a familiar mask and cape, but the expression on his face made Jim take a step forward before he remembered himself.

The Phantom looked tortured. More than that, he looked  _scared_.  _  
_

"I didn't mean to," he whispered, "I-I was on my way to a spot where I could watch yah, I swear, and then..." were his hands shaking?

Jim scrubbed his face with both hands. "Bones," he began, because the nickname seemed to make him happy, "I fucked up, I'll admit that. I should've listened to you. But what you did tonight, I don't know if I can forgive you for that." Something in those sad eyes tensed. Bones started to say his name, but Jim held up a hand and spoke over him, "I'm gonna go back down there. And after this show, I'll tell Khan yes. Yeah, he proposed to me. You didn't know that? I thought you would, what with you following me everywhere." The last part, spoken with bitter accusation, cut off the hoarse sound from the other. "We'll get married, and I'll ask if we can live out of the city. I'm sure he won't object.

"Goodbye, Bones."

Jim left, shutting the door behind him with shattering finality.

The Phantom fell to his knees.

**INTERMISSION**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize again. I hope that was good? 
> 
> Thank you so much.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading :)


End file.
